The Race Cars

[jonto]

As intermediate records were taken, a little note would arrive from the timing box giving the speed and distance or time. The system of signalling was simple but effective, for, if the car speed was right, T. Gillet, of A.C,'s,  would stand out on the track in plain view, with his arms folded, if too fast would pat the air in the conventional slow-down signal, if too slow, would swing one arm backwards and forwards as though giving the "pass" signal in touring. "Stop" was shown by holding up both arms. On a blackboard the number of laps and the speed on the previous lap were written in chalk for the drivers amusement.
     For twelve hours all went well, though the exhaust pipe came loose and was secured, the average was over seventy m.p.h., good for those days, and everyone was happy, save that I, very properly, got into trouble for going down to the paddock to tea without first saying exactly where I was going. At the end of that time the car was locked away, and we all went to bed.

[jonto]

Very early next morning I arrived at the track to find Noble not feeling very well, Brownsort a bit tired, having had little sleep, and a thick white mist all over the track. That was a cheerful prospect for our start, but start we had to, and it was speedily apparent that the car was on the slow side. Accordingly , as the fresh man of the team, I was put on, previously arranging that a line of cars should be stationed across the mouth of the finishing straight so that their red tail lights, switched on, would show as a guide line.
      The car stopped; I got in, lowered the little wind-screen until I could just see over the top- goggles were useless- and was pushed off until the engine fired. Then I pushed the throttle wide open and hung on, staring into the mist until my eyes ached, and trusting to the Lord in the matter of direction. Fortunately I found I could see the fence, so steered by that and the curve of the banking, cutting out in fright every now and then. It was a wild ride. Sometimes in panic I thought I must be going down the finishing straight, and would arrive in my own depot at high speed from behind; once I nearly hit the railings of the public enclosure, which caused my heart to accelerate violently, and once I had to brake hard, having lost all sense of direction near the fork, but the car kept going, and the depot signals, when I could them were O.K. The worst of it was that the cold air, mist, and strain made my eyes very painful; but, after an age, the mist began to lift, letting me keep my foot down for longer and longer stretches, until the "slower" signal told me that the battle was won.
      After that the run became enjoyable, and in about an hour's time the mist melted away altogether, so I settled down to try and keep an absolutely regular speed by rev. counter reading, watching the chalk figures on the board intently for the variation round by round.
      My spell ended sooner than I liked, but after it I walked on air, for I had driven a real racing car in a record and survived, an experience I would not have exchanged for much gold. Later on another spell when the weather had cleared up completely confirmed my belief that racing must be one of the world's finest games-

[jonto]

-but a third spell showed me the other side of the medal.
      I was having lunch off duty when a message arrived from S.F. Edge, who was in charge of the attempt, asking me to come at once as, by stopping at the timing strip and restarting, they though the car would take the two- litre class hour record, for which a standing start is necessary. Scrambling into overalls I dashed to the depot, where the car, smothered in mechanics, was being refilled, climbed into the cockpit, switched on, got into gear and waited.
     Underneath the body a man was draining the sump oil into a pan. Suddenly I heard him say, "Blimey, what's this?" and he got up holing the small end of a connecting rod! Alas, it was too true, we had lost rod and piston from one cylinder presumably exactly as the driver switched off to coast in to the depot. That put an end to the whole thing, to my sorrow, but we had taken eighteen records, all but one at over seventy m.p.h.
      The body and chassis of that car served for many a record, until its designer would not have recognized the shape, and big patches lent a dissolute air to the whole thing.

[jonto]

After the 200 Miles Race one of the new special overhead camshaft four-cylinder engines was installed in the chassis, and I was sent out to get the 1 I/2 litre hour record, then much coveted because there was always a remote chance of being the first car to accomplish 100 miles in the time. Several people had tried and failed, but were known to be ready again for further attempts.
      I set off, flat out, keeping as low in the car as I could to reduce head resistance, and we had a glorious half-hour going really well, a most inspiring run, though the tail bumped on the track every round when we leapt bodily from the home banking down on to the railway straight. There is nothing more lonely than the cockpit of a racing car on the track. In it, one seems cut off from all the world, the exhaust noise, added to the roar of the wind, deafens, the track itself seems wider and  longer than ever before.
      Cutting the Vicker's shed corner by pulling the car off the Byfleet  banking early and heading straight across to the shed, where the wind, rebounding, caused the A.C. To drift bodily sideways as we passed, I was delighting in the fast, fierce run up to the home banking; suddenly there was a fearful crash, the rear wheels locked, the car skidded violently, then, as I freed the clutch and switched off, straightened to coast past the depot down to the timing strip at the first mile box. A piston and rod had collapsed; but the average for fifty miles was 93.86 m.p.h., which included the final coast, and we took five records.
      It was always the same thing, a big burst of speed, then the pieces flew. Weeks would be spent finding out how to cure the trouble, then perhaps success would reward our efforts; followed experiment to make the engine go faster still, another catastrophe, and more weeks' hard work. But we learned a lot.
      Naturally there were some humorous interludes. On one occasion I was going round the track fast in a certain car and suddenly noticed one of the depot staff on all fours on the concrete, apparently offering up prayers according to some Asiatic rite. Next round round every member of the depot, mechanics and all, were spread out in a long line, all of them squatting or kneeling, and all of them looking at the car! It suddenly dawned on me that there must be something the matter, and greatly excited, I made desperate efforts to find out what the trouble might be, though the narrowness of the cockpit made it impossible to turn and look behind. I began to have that unpleasant feeling when imaginary, icy fingers play up and down the knobbly part of one's spine.
      Two rounds later I came out from behind the Members' Hill to be greeted by men holding up their arms, men waving flags, a blackboard with "STOP!" on it in huge letters, and one man who seemed to be  dancing with excitement. I came to the conclusion that either they were all mad, or the car must be coming to pieces. If the latter, obviously I had got to be careful to stop gently, as a sudden hard application of brakes might precipitate the disaster. So I switched off, got into neutral, and coasted. A car came alongside full of men who shouted and pointed. Since I was stone deaf from the exhaust, that conveyed nothing, but when my car came to rest I found it lop-sided. The bolts holding one front quarter-elliptic spring had broken. From the depot the gradual list had been seen, hence the excitement.

[ACOCArch]

quote:Originally posted by jonto
   
A piston and rod had collapsed; but the average for fifty miles was 93.86 m.p.h., which included the final coast, and we took five records.
   
   

   This photograph, and record in SCH Davis' own hand, was generously bequethed to the ACOC Archive by the great man.
   
   

[jonto]

High on the members banking at over 90 m.p.h., seen from the members hill. The car now has the 16 valve cylinder head and twin tandem bonnets. Was the date October 28th 1921 and where was the start line for long distance records?

[jonto]

Brooklands Race Track, the outer circuit was driven in a counter clockwise direction.
   

[jonto]

The service depot for long distance record attempts was placed in the mouth of the finishing straight where it met the home banking just after the members bridge.
   
   

[jonto]

Leaving the depot, where the home banking merged into the railway straight, was the bridge over the river Wey which had "sunk" creating the famous bump, fast cars leapt of the banking landing on the straight some yards further on...
   
   

[jonto]

The fast run along the railway straight...
   
   

[jonto]

Round the Byfleet banking...
   
   

[jonto]

From the Byfleet banking to the fork...
   
   

[jonto]

The tricky bit crossing the fork, placing the car in position for the run up to the home banking, the entrance to the finishing straight on the left, the Vickers sheds on the right...
   
   

[jonto]

Leaving the fork, the pits on the left...
   
   
   
   

[jonto]

Arriving at the home banking...